


This is only an abstract noun.

by diana_hawthorne (dhawthorne)



Series: Private Lives [21]
Category: Law & Order, Law & Order: Criminal Intent
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-12 23:24:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16881237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhawthorne/pseuds/diana_hawthorne
Summary: Gossip spreads easily. Sometimes, they get it right.Set October 2007.





	1. Wednesday, 3 p.m.: Alex, Bobby, and Mike

**Author's Note:**

> This is a multi-chapter fic exploring the events of the Law & Order Season 18 episode "Betrayal" and how the tremors of Olivet's testimony (specifically, that she had an affair with a detective she was counseling) spread across the department. It's part of my never-ending series "Private Lives," though it can kind of be read as a standalone. If you don't feel like reading all of the fics in this series, try "you and your triple-digit IQ" (a series of drabbles that cover most of this series arc) and "a summer afternoon."
> 
> The title comes from a poem by Carol Ann Duffy.
> 
> 5/20/19: This fic was updated to make it canon-compliant in regards to Ben's children.

Now that he’s in Major Case, he gets the gossip fresh, almost before the events actually finish. He’s at his desk drinking a cup of coffee when Eames comes up to Goren, speaking to him so softly he can’t hear, before they both look at him. They don’t speak and their gazes are steady.

‘What?’ he snaps.

‘Did you hear about McCoy and Cutter’s latest trial?’ Eames begins. ‘The one about the wife who shot her husband.’

‘Isn’t that every case? What about it?’ he replies dismissively, mind beginning to drift away from their odd behavior and back to the case he’s wrapping up. He’s taking on more of his share of work lately, Wheeler otherwise occupied with her training and her imminent trip to the UK.

‘You’ve known Dr. Olivet for going on twenty years,’ Goren remarks. His random observation causes him to tense, hand convulsively gripping his styrofoam cup of coffee before it gives a warning creak. He loosens his grip, knowing Goren missed nothing. Neither did Eames.

He continues, ‘And she counseled you after your partner was shot, didn’t she.’

It’s not a question and he bitterly resents it, that and the fact that he’s taken aback by his knowledge of those events. He shouldn’t be, he scoffs internally. Of course Goren did his research. Carolyn did too, when they were first partners. She would’ve shared what she found with Goren and Eames anyway.

‘What about it? She counseled everyone, pretty much. She was the favorite department shrink.’ Resentment coats every word. She’d helped him, yeah, and if they hadn’t gone through the song and dance of the seven stages of grief, would they have gotten to where they ended up? Probably not. He’s still not sure if he can bring himself to regret it.

‘She was testifying today,’ Eames states, blunter than Goren but still too subtle for him to grasp what the hell they’re getting at.

Even though he still doesn’t know what they’re trying to say, he’s on his guard. They’re getting at something, that’s obvious at least. ‘Great, so what? She’s been testifying for us for like two decades now.’

Goren opens his mouth to speak but Eames takes pity on him, holding up a hand to quell the detective’s endless mind games.

‘The defendant, who Olivet testified for, was not only the wife of the victim but formerly his patient. He was a psychiatrist,’ she adds, and her meaning hits him like a ton of bricks.

‘Stone knows, doesn’t he? About your relationship with his wife?’ Goren, again, taking Eames’s cue and speaking plainly. He’s not in it for the gossip--it’s almost worse. He can see the other detective filing this piece of information away to use later. ‘Considering you’ve spent so much time with a psychologist, I’m surprised you’re not more receptive to my methods.’

He doesn’t reply, not wanting to give them anything. They stare at him, silent too, measuring him up.

‘What did she say?’

‘I heard that Cutter asked her if she’d ever slept with a patient. A detective she treated after the loss of his partner. Not hard to put two and two together.’

Fuck.

‘Eames has already heard this from three different people,’ Goren adds.

Even worse. It’s already all over the department.

‘And does everyone know--think--it’s me?’ he corrects himself, though they’ve already caught his error. He curses silently.

‘You do have a reputation.’ Eames is almost apologetic. ‘And people have noticed how you and Stone… well, how you aren’t… cooperative… with each other. Despite your history.’

He snorts. ‘Yeah. Yeah, you could say that.’ He pauses, then adds, ‘It’s been over for awhile. Years.’ If you don’t count their last attempt at reconciliation a year ago. Where they went on several dates, alone and then that last one, a trip to the Park with Caroline… after which she told him she needed some time and then never called him back. 

‘Yeah,’ she acknowledges. Goren nods, her now-silent shadow. He looks at them both for a moment before turning away.

‘Logan,’ Eames says, and he turns back to look at her. ‘We’re here. If you wanna talk, I mean.’

It’s a surprising offer, and one he doesn’t expect. He’s not gonna take them up on it, but--‘Thanks.’

Goren nods and Eames offers him a smile. He nods in return and turns back to his desk, wishing he was still behind that pillar as everyone turns to look at him.

 

It’s pretty obvious that Cutter knew what to ask because McCoy told him. Who told McCoy? Did Liz, did Phil, did Lennie, did Don, did Stone, did Claire, did LT? Too many people knew, and while none of them would’ve told Cutter they almost certainly would’ve told McCoy. He’s probably known about them for years, the bastard, just waiting to use it--

No. That’s not right. He wasn’t always like this.

When did McCoy stop giving a shit about ethics? He’d always walked a narrow line but this--throwing something private, something he had no business knowing in the first place into the dogfighting ring of the courtroom, reporters and lawyers slavering like dogs to rip her apart… 

They haven’t been together for years but it doesn’t matter, it’s about them, he shouldn’t’ve--what the fuck was he thinking?

He didn’t throw McCoy’s relationship with Claire in his face, not even after he heard about how he was framing a drunk driver to get sent up for life. Not that he disagreed, necessarily--Claire was his friend, one of the few he trusted, loved--but it was against everything they stood for, everything they worked for. They wouldn’t have listened anyway, but he could’ve said something, might’ve said something, if it wasn’t too late.

 

‘Logan--my office,’ Ross says, sticking his head out of his office. ‘Now.’

He sighs inwardly, not surprised, and his feet hit the floor with enough force to startle the gossiping detectives in the row of desks behind him. He doesn’t give a shit, not after spending the past two hours listening to whispers of his name and Liz’s, dealing with the endless glances, waiting for his phone to ring and for it to be Liz with some sort of explanation. The only saving grace of the day is that Stone isn't in today. 

The walk to the Captain’s office is long and he's a better target now for the entire bullpen. He stiffens his shoulders and walks on, closing the door firmly behind him.

Ross is sitting behind his desk, fingers steepled, watching him.

‘Take a seat, Logan,’ the Captain says at last, and he reluctantly pulls out the chair in front of the desk, sitting down heavily. 

‘So, I’m sure that you’ve heard about the… explosive testimony today.’ He pauses. ‘Rumor has it that you’re the cop.’

His mouth twists. ‘So what if it is?’

‘Somehow I’m not surprised your history of inappropriate relationships started well before your neighbor.’

It takes everything in him to stay still and silent. He’s not the same man who threw that punch, but right now--he’s tempted. Tempted to slam a fist through the wall, throw the Captain’s desk across the room… but he’s tired too, and he won’t survive another ten-year stint on Staten Island. 

Ross gives him a measured look. ‘I guess this is why you and Stone haven’t gotten along.’

He nods stiffly, giving him the smallest amount of acknowledgment he can. 

‘Well, we’re going to have to have a meeting. Damage control. Tomorrow.’

He nods again, then offers, reluctantly, ‘It’s been over for a long time now. It was--before.’ There. He can interpret that any way he wants. 

Ross nods too, and there’s something approaching understanding in his gaze. ‘Okay then. Thanks.’

He stands, still as tense as he can possibly be while still moving, when the Captain adds, ‘why don’t you take the rest of the day?’

‘Thanks,’ he replies, and doesn’t look back.


	2. Wednesday, 11 p.m.: Frankie

When she picks up the phone after six rings, she’s cursing her rotten luck. Of course she’s be called back in after making sure she was done for the day… and of course they’d call when she was right in the middle of making homemade pasta.

But when she picks up the phone, cradling it between her ear with her shoulder to avoid getting too much flour on it, the voice is unfamiliar and tentative.

‘Detective Silvera? Frankie? This is--this is Carolyn Barek.’

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. She knows who Barek is, of course--Mikey’s been more forthcoming about his former partner-then-girlfriend than he has about anyone else in years.

‘Yes?’

‘Um--did you hear about what happened today?’

‘What happened?’ she asked, suddenly alarmed. ‘Is Mike okay?’

‘He’s--I mean, he’s fine, but, um--I don’t know where he is.’

Her alarm vanishes in an instant, replaced with something she doesn’t want to examine, though she realizes that it’s contempt. ‘And you’re calling me because…?’

‘It’s not like we had a fight,’ Barek remarks, suddenly defensive. ‘It’s just that Olivet testified in court today and admitted she had an affair with a cop she was treating after his partner died.’

Well, she didn’t expect that.

Of course she knew about Dr. Olivet, though Mike had never told her her name. There was that time they were sent out, after the Uzelli shooting, to deal with a stolen car--he’d been surprised by the car’s owner and later admitted to her that the woman was his ex’s cousin.

It was easy enough to put the pieces together after that. She typed her name into the system and it came out that the two names she gave the officers taking her statement were that of her husband, who was out of town, and her cousin--Elizabeth Olivet.

She’d recognized the name from his file, the brick-like thing Stolper tossed to her. She’d been his department-assigned shrink after his partner was shot and killed. He’d worked with her for a couple years. There was a note in his file saying that Dr. Olivet had called him directly when she’d been raped by her gynecologist. She remembered that case and vaguely recalled speculation of their relationship. A pencil-scribbled note in his file, on the back of her rape report, noted that he’d been listed as her emergency contact at the hospital. She’d put it all together after that incident with the car.

She suspected, though she’d never be so crass as to ask him, that the end of this relationship was what prompted The Punch.

When he came over to Staten Island his reputation preceded him. He was a womanizer, he was a hothead, he was going to go off the rails again. But she never saw any of that with him. He was, especially after the Taylor case, defeated. He was a loyal partner, a loyal boyfriend to the few women he dated. His hothead tendencies surfaced only rarely and when he went off the rails it was to sink into a deep depression she despaired of.

She didn’t think they’d keep in touch after he left, but they had. She’d met him in the city--‘I’m tellin’ you, Frankie, I’m never goin’ back to that hellhole unless I’m dragged there’--and they’d have a drink, or meet for dinner at his new local.

Freed from the invisible strains of being partners, they became honest-to-goodness friends. He was open with her, more open than with anyone else, she knew. She was the one person still in his life who understood him and accepted him for who he was.

Despite that, there were still things he couldn’t bring himself to tell her despite their weight on his soul. Dr. Olivet was one of them.

‘…and I’ve called him, but he’s not picking up.’ Carolyn trails off, waiting expectantly for an answer.

‘He’s not here,’ she replies, dragging her attention back to the present.

‘…can you call him?’ Barek asks. ‘I don’t want to ask, Frankie, but--’

‘I’ll call him, but he’s not gonna pick up,’ she states with finality. ‘He does this sometimes. Just give him some time and he’ll come back.’

‘Oh.’ Barek’s voice is tense, and she curses silently. Of course she took this the wrong way.

‘We’re friends, Barek. Been friends for a long time--but there’s never been anything else between us.’

She can almost sense the relief across the phone lines.

‘I’ll call him,’ she says again. ‘I’ll tell him to call you if he picks up, okay?’

‘Okay. Thank you.’

‘Sure,’ she says, and hangs up.

Her first interaction with Barek--she cares about Mike, that’s clear, and she’s worried about him. That’s good. That’s what he needs now. She just hopes he doesn’t fuck it up with her.

After a few minutes, taking that time to clean her hands and set aside the pasta, she dials his number. As she expects, it goes to voicemail.

‘Mikey, hey--Barek called me. She’s worried about you.’ A pause, then, ‘you’re a lucky man. She seems like just the person you need. So don’t fuck it up and call her back.’

She hangs up and goes back to making pasta.


	3. Wednesday, 1:30 p.m.: Jack

Liz’s eyes meet his as she’s dismissed by the judge. He’d slipped in while she was sworn in and distracted, anticipating her testimony and Mike’s line of questioning. His protege surprised him--he was a bit more ham-handed than he would have been, but it got the job done. Liz was furious. She’s furious now.

He knew what he had to do the day she came into his office, full of anger. She wanted him to retract their expert. Her vision was so narrow--she couldn’t understand. She wouldn’t understand. She was trying to defend a murderer and she had to be stopped the only way he knew how. He warned her. She should’ve known what was coming.

He supposes that her anger now is justified. It was something private that he revealed--he felt the same when his relationships with Sally, Claire, Diana were brought up in court in Washington all those years ago.

He wasn’t even supposed to know about them. They’d been discreet--none of his relationships had ever approached the level of privacy they’d somehow managed to maintain. He’d thought, once in a while, that they may have had… something. But what they had was far beyond he ever imagined.

Claire told him about it, once. That the only successful couple she’d known was Mike and Liz. That their relationship began when she was still treating him. He’d been astonished. He couldn’t believe it--not high-and-mightly Elizabeth Olivet, who held her principles so dear. He didn’t think she would’ve sullied her hands.

One night, a long time after Claire, they’d been having a drink. It was after she married Ben, when he’d been on those endless book tours, and it had been his anniversary with Claire, and he’d needed to talk. Liz, at least, wouldn’t judge him.

‘It’s horrible when it ends, isn’t it?’ he’d said, three scotches deep. ‘Worse when you work with them.’

‘...yes,’ she’d admitted. ‘It is worse.’

‘Adam told me not to start something with her. It made it--it was like sneaking around. We couldn’t stop ourselves.’ He looked at her, scotches hitting him hard. ‘You know about that, don’t you? Claire said--’ he cut himself off deliberately. Even though he was drunk he was still a prosecutor, still knew how to get information out of a person. At the time, he wasn’t sure why he did what he did. But knowledge was power, and later, he thought that he’d just wanted to knock her down a peg or three, get Ice Queen Olivet’s facade to crack a bit. Now, he knows why he asked.

She’d had a few martinis, as bad off as he, and he was successful--for once the ice queen persona slipped. ‘Yes. Mike and I--he was still my patient. Technically.’

She caught his eye, daring him to react, to challenge her.

‘Well, well, well,’ he grinned, impressed even though he already knew about them. ‘You could’ve done worse.’

She flushed. ‘It wasn’t like that.’

Now that was a surprise. ‘You can’t tell me that you and Logan were ready to settle down, have a couple kids--can you?’

She closed her eyes, every line in her body radiating defeat. ‘It doesn’t matter now.’

After a moment, he promised, ‘I won’t tell.’

She raised her glass to him, then turned back to her drink, tight-lipped as ever.

It wasn’t the first promise he’d broken in the pursuit of justice. It wouldn’t be the last.

He leaves the courtroom amongst the chatter of journalists, ADAs, and cops. This will be in every office, every precinct by evening. He may as well go home and avoid it.

Somehow he’s not surprised that Liz finds him in the parking garage. He’d had to stop by his office and pick up his things and she knew his habits well. She knew he’d slip out of the office.

‘That hurt, Jack.’

‘I warned you,’ he tells her.

‘You betrayed a confidence!’

‘You went to bat for a woman who shot her husband in cold blood and would’ve killed anyone else who she found in his office. If I had to betray a confidence to ensure she goes to jail, so be it. These are the rules we live by.’

She glares at him. ‘This isn’t your finest hour, Jack.’

‘Nor yours.’

He leaves her standing there. He should feel guilty, but he feels nothing at all.


	4. Wednesday, 3:25 p.m.: Carolyn

Alex calls her first.

They talk frequently, so that’s not a surprise, but the apology in her voice is.

‘Listen,’ she says. ‘Something happened today.’

She’s silent as her friend continues, ‘Olivet testified in court today. Admitted she started sleeping with a cop she was treating, when she was treating him, on the stand. Bobby and I… we went to talk to him. And he said, ‘does everyone know--think--that it’s me?’

A sharp intake of breath--only belatedly does she realize it was her.

‘Did you know about them?’ She, and maybe Bobby, would be the only ones to hear the undercurrent of concern and sympathy in her voice.

‘Something,’ she says. ‘Not this.’

Alex hmms. ‘Ross talked to him, then he left. About five minutes ago.’

‘Thanks.’ Alex will know she means it. She just can’t say another word.

‘We’ll talk later,’ Alex confirms, then hangs up.

She sets her cell phone down with trembling hands. She’s at her desk at the FBI offices and it’s all she can do right now to keep it together. After a few minutes, when she’s sure she can walk without shaking, she grabs her wallet and phone and walks outside, ostensibly to get a coffee.

He’s only a five minute walk away, but when she calls him he doesn’t pick up.

‘Mike--it’s me. Call me. Or come to the office--I’m in the park right now. Just--talk to me, please.’

She grabs some coffee from a vendor and finds a bench to sit on. It’s a beautiful day outside but she doesn’t notice it.

God. She knew he’d had something with Olivet but she didn’t know it went that deep. The thing he’d had with her--he didn’t talk about it, not when they were partners and not now that they were together. He’d gone to see her after he shot Tarkman, though he didn’t tell her that. She’d only seen the crumpled message someone had scrawled when they took her message.

Dr. Olivet called in regards to your meeting yesterday and asks that you call her back.

Olivet’s husband had taken a few days off after that, coming back to 1PP with an unwillingness to even look at Logan, let alone work with him. Rumors, later confirmed, went around that he’d separated from his wife.

A few weeks later he was--not happy, she’d only seen him happy when their relationship turned more personal--but there was something undeniably positive in his demeanor. And then it crumbled.

A month after that she moved back to the FBI on a three-years-long loan and they’d gone out for a farewell drink. They ended up at his apartment and, what did you know--he really did have a couch that big. They’d been together ever since. 

There was still so much she didn’t know about him a year later. God. She never expected--well, she couldn’t have expected this.

What did she think it was between them, though? She never really thought about it--hadn’t wanted to explore that part of the past for fear of what it might bring up. But that was then.

It wasn’t a fling. He did flings, but this wasn’t one of them--if it was, whatever’s going on with him now would have been settled long ago. He wouldn’t have gone to ground about this, like he’s doing now. But what was it? Obviously it’s not something unconsummated. But it wasn’t enough, not enough for Olivet. Not when she married someone else and had a child with him. Not when he’s moved on, too.

Or maybe he hasn’t. Maybe she hasn’t, either.

She’s spoken with Van Buren before, spoken with Cragen, and they never gave her any hint of this aspect of his history. He kept his life private now, all of it, even from her. And she knows he’ll never share this with her, not really. Not if she asks, not if she doesn’t.

He’d loved Olivet’s daughter. He’d loved her like his own child--that was visible for everyone to see. It was the only thing he couldn’t, or didn’t, hide. The first time she saw them together--when Stone had brought her to the precinct, in the middle of helping Deakins with one of Goren and Eames’ cases, and Mike had offered to watch her. They’d been wrapping up one of their cases and she’d been in the break room when they’d gone to lunch. When they came back, he introduced the two of them and promptly spent the rest of the afternoon listening to her talk about her life.

She’d watched as her face fell when her father came to collect her and saw Mike withdraw back into himself. But it gave her hope that--that he’d want to be a father.

Where is he now? Has he gone after McCoy or Cutter, or gone after Olivet? She hopes not.

She trusts him, but she’s scared for him. She knows him so well but she has no idea what he’s going to do now.

Her phone buzzes. It’s not Mike; it’s a reminder that she has a meeting in fifteen minutes. She stands up and tosses the cold cup of coffee into a nearby trash can as she walks back to the office.


	5. Wednesday, 10:30 p.m.: Ben

He’s tucked his daughter in a few hours ago and is relaxing in the living room when someone knocks on the door. He is honestly surprised to see his wife standing there. Her arms are wrapped tight around her waist, her shoulders tense. She doesn’t look at him.

‘We need to talk,’ she says.

‘Come in,’ he says at once, stepping back from the door. She hasn’t yet been inside his new apartment, a first floor apartment in Gramercy, and she’s not in any mindset to take anything else in now. He closes and locks the door behind her, then leads her to the living room.

‘Would you like something to drink?’ he says, noticing how she stares at his glass of cognac.

‘Mmhmm,’ she agrees, shivering now although the room is warm.

‘Sit down, Elizabeth,’ he says, gentle, and she looks at him for the first time tonight, but she’s not focused on him. He steps forward and guides her to a chair near the window before turning to the bar in the corner, pouring her a glass of cognac. He hands it to her and she takes it with shaking hands. She takes a fortifying sip before looking at him again, this time meeting his eyes.

‘What happened?’ he asks.

She takes a deep, shaky breath. ‘Today--today, I testified in court. And Jack--Jack, he told Cutter to ask about my relationship with Mike. To ask me how it began.’

‘And how did it begin?’ he asks, slipping into prosecutor mode automatically.

‘When--when he was my patient.’

She turns to look at him and her expression is so bleak it nearly breaks his heart. But as he realizes what she’s admitted to his heartbreak turns to anger. 

‘I can’t believe it. The Jenny Gorham case… how could you say those things when you did the same? How could you?’ He stands up, appalled. ‘Everything you said to us--the terrible betrayal of trust, the breach of ethics--didn’t that matter to you? You sat next to me and argued with Adam to prosecute Diane Meade! You argued in court--said that it was exploitation and abuse!’

She sits silently, grey eyes enormous as he paces in front of her.

‘How could you be such a hypocrite?’ he snaps, but still she remains silent. ‘Say something!’

She straightens up, clenching her fists in her lap. Her eyes are cold steel as she regards him, all trace of distress gone. ‘I ended our doctor/patient relationship immediately after… after we slept together the first time. Our relationship was unorthodox--we worked together, were colleagues--it was a conflict of interest in any case.’

‘That doesn’t matter! He was your patient!’

‘He pursued me.’

‘Elizabeth--it doesn’t matter! You were the one with the responsibility! You were his doctor!’

‘I know!’ she exclaims. ‘Don’t you think I knew that? After… after that first night, I transferred his case to another department psychologist and we were just colleagues.’

‘But you started up again. What happened, Elizabeth? You went back to him.’

‘Months later. I went away to Connecticut for my vacation and when I came back… when I came back, there was a case, and I went to the precinct, and it was raining. He drove me home and we didn’t have an umbrella. We got soaking wet… he wanted to talk about what happened. He had to change out of his things and we were talking… then we were kissing, and we went to bed again, and then after a few false starts we were together.’

She’s staring out the window, speaking as though now that she’s started she could never stop. He watches her, seeing the dreamy expression on her face, knowing in an instant that no matter what he believed she never felt like this about him.

‘We didn’t tell anyone at work. We had a life together and no one needed to know about it… But after… after I was--’ she breaks off and for a moment he believes she’ll cry again, but she recovers. ‘Of course he had to tell Cragen and Phil, he couldn’t be the lead on this case, and you found out. He stayed with me every day. He was there every single day for me. You have no idea how it was,’ she says, looking at him. She’s a stranger to him. He doesn’t know her at all.

‘What do you mean?’ he asks, forcing himself to gentle his voice. ‘I was there.’

‘Not like him.’ Her voice is soft, not accusing, simply stating a fact. ‘You weren’t there at night when I woke up screaming at three in the morning, when I couldn’t move, could barely breathe, couldn’t leave the house… I can’t tell you how many nights he sat up with me watching endless movies, The Philadelphia Story and The Big Sleep and Roman Holiday--I couldn’t even let him touch me for weeks. I put pillows down the middle of my bed and he slept there with me every night so he’d be there when I woke up. For weeks…’ she trails off, her eyes hollow as she recalls her ordeal.

‘I didn’t know,’ he says at last, softly, subsiding into the chair across from her. ‘I had no idea.’

‘No. But I hope you see… when things were over, it was devastating.’

‘How did it end?’ he asks, his anger fading slowly.

She turns to him. ‘Ben, please… please, I can’t.’

‘Were you in love with him?’ he asks quietly.

She drops her gaze to her hands, twisting over and over in her lap. ‘It doesn’t matter, does it?’

He feels a wave of bitter hurt crash over him and his anger returns in full force. ‘That’s not an answer.’

She stands up. ‘I think you already know the answer.’

‘Where are you going?’ he asks.

‘Home.’

‘We’re not done talking.’

She sighs, shoulders sagging as she faces him. ‘What else could you possibly want to know?’

‘Are you still in love with him?’ he asks, standing up to grasp her shoulders. ‘Tell me, Elizabeth--are you still in love with him?’

She looks almost disappointed in him as she nods. ‘If that’s what you want to know--yes. Yes, I’m still in love with him.’

‘Then why aren’t you with him?’ he snaps. ‘Why did you marry me if you wanted to be with him?’

‘What do you want from me, Ben?’

‘The truth!’ He never shouts, rarely raises his voice but--tonight has pushed him past his limits, he can’t understand her, and he needs to know. He gives her shoulders a brisk, sharp shake, and she flinches, giving out a little cry. He drops his hands as though they’ve been scalded. He didn’t mean to--

‘It didn’t matter ten years ago when we got married; why does it matter now when we’re separated?’

‘Because ten years ago he wasn’t in our lives any more! But he’s here now. I can’t see him giving up on you now that he has a shot once again.’

She shakes her head sadly. ‘It’s over at last, Ben. Between us. He will never--we will never--’ She breaks off as she begins to cry, terrifying little painful gasps that shake her whole body.

He doesn’t know how to handle this. She’s never shared this much about her relationship with him. He knew that she loved him deeply. He knew that whatever Logan felt for her wasn’t over.

‘Elizabeth,’ he says, helpless.

She raises a tear-stained face to him. ‘I just--I don’t know what to tell you, Ben. I’ve loved him for fifteen years. I will never stop loving him… but I’ve lost him. And now I’ve lost him forever.’

He stares at her, still physically stunned from her confession. 

‘I do love you, Ben,’ she whispers, a clearly half-hearted attempt to smooth over her words. ‘I love you too.’

He meets her eyes. ‘I’m in love with you, Elizabeth, but I don’t know how--I don’t know what can happen after this. I just--I just wanted you. I don’t want to be an afterthought. I don’t want to be your second choice.’

She hangs her head, flushed red with embarrassment and guilt.

Eventually, he clears his throat. ‘Do you need me to watch Caroline tomorrow?’

‘I just want her home with me. I’ll pick her up from school tomorrow.’

‘All right.’

‘Okay,’ she says, looking up at him for a minute before she leaves him alone with the aftershock of her confession.


	6. Thursday, 8 a.m.: Connie

‘What the fuck is your problem, McCoy?’

She hears a voice shout from Jack’s office and picks up the pace, trying to jog in her heels while holding a stack of files Mike requested in one hand and her coffee in the other. She turns the corner to Jack’s office and stops short as she sees Mike standing to the side of the door, just barely invisible from the people inside. He turns his head to look at her and raises a finger to his lips.

‘You forget yourself, Detective Logan.’ Jack’s voice is cold and completely in control, but she stifles a gasp. She’d heard the rumors, just like everyone else, but she hadn’t thought for sure that it was him--

She’s never met him, but she’s heard the stories, especially when he was transferred to Major Case. She’s taken over a few of his cases from other ADAs and has been impressed by the level of detail of his reports. He was a good cop, she know for certain. And as hot-headed as the rumors made him out to be, apparently. Although he has a good reason to be.

‘No, you forget yourself. And forget the fact that Liz has spent your entire acquaintance tryin’ to help you, you jackass! Where do you get off siccing your pet bulldog on her in court?’ He snorts in anger. ‘You didn’t even think about what you were doin’. Claire would’ve been disgusted with who you’ve become.’

‘Don’t talk about Claire,’ Jack snaps, and she recoils from the anger in his voice even as her mind fills in the blanks--Claire Kincaid, his ADA from May 1994 until she was killed in a drunk driving accident in August 1996, Harvard Law, Head of the Law Review her last year, stepdaughter of Professor Mac Gellar--

‘Oh, and why not? We were friends. I actually listened to her when she said she wanted to quit. You just ignored her.’

‘You have no idea what you’re talking about.’

Connie can’t resist indulging in her curiosity any longer--she peeks through the crack in the door but can see only Jack standing behind his desk, fists clenched.

‘Oh, I do--and I know for sure that if she was still here, she’d be standing here, lookin’ at you with as much contempt as I’m feelin’ for you right now.’

There’s silence, a moment in which Jack lowers his head--fighting back rage or grief, she can’t tell.

‘You have no idea what she’s gone through to try to help you, you asshole, and you just throw it in her face.’

Mike pulls her back from the door as Jack says, ‘Quite frankly, Logan, I’m surprised you give a shit, considering she married someone else.’

‘Did you know about this?’ Mike whispers, and she shakes her head, turning back to listen, invested in the story as any good prosecutor would be.

‘You better be happy that I’m not into another ten years on Staten Island, otherwise I’d be happy to punch that smugness off your face.’ He pauses, then says, ‘But who knows. Maybe it would be worth it. You make me sick.’ After another tension-filled moment, he says, ‘I don’t know what happened to you, McCoy. Maybe it was Claire, maybe it was something else, but you’ve got to get it together or you’re gonna go too far one of these days.’

‘Get out,’ Jack says.

‘I’m goin’, I’m goin’,’ Logan replies.

Mike pulls her away, around the corner as Jack’s office door bangs open and Detective Logan barrels into the hallway, single-mindedly focuses on wherever he was going. He ignores them but she studies him carefully, noting the anger and defeat in every line of his body. It’s her first glimpse of him, so maybe she’s imagining things, but she doesn’t think so.

‘Come back to my office,’ Mike says, his voice still low. She nods and follows.

When they enter his office, he closes the door behind them and turns to her.

‘What the hell was all that about?’ Mike asks.

She looks at him in astonishment. ‘Are you serious? This is about what you did to Liz Olivet on the stand.’ She’s still so furious about that. She couldn’t say anything in court, and she hadn’t known before, but God--she was on their side, even if this time she was on the other side of the aisle. Yes, she made a mistake--and honestly she’s floored that Liz made this one--but she didn’t deserve the public humiliation these two men decided to create.

‘What I did?’ he scoffs. ‘Oh, come on. I won a case.’

‘You destroyed her reputation. And Logan’s, too.’

‘Ah, I see,’ Mike says. For a good lawyer, sometimes he can be really stupid. ‘So Logan was the cop. I guess I should pay more attention to the office gossip.’

She shakes her head. ‘What you did--what you and Jack did--that’s despicable.’

‘If you can’t take the heat, stay out of the frying pan,’ he replies.

‘You’re just like Jack,’ she says, not bothering to hide the disgust in her voice. ‘This isn’t what we fight for.’

He doesn’t have anything to say in response, so she gathers up her files and walks back to her office.

God, these men. How could they be so goddamn short-sighted and careless and--well, cruel? Her heart aches for Liz. She’ll have to find some way to apologize for not knowing, for not being able to stop this senseless act.


	7. Thursday, 10 a.m.: Danny Ross

His neighbor’s fire alarm went off all damn night so he walks into 1PP with zero sleep and jittery as hell from the two extra cups of coffee he was forced to consume in order to stay awake and provide some semblance of normality. He sighs with frustration when he realized he’s scheduled a meeting with Stone and Logan for 10 a.m. That’s the last thing he needs.

Stone appears in his office five minutes before their scheduled meeting, prompt as ever.

‘Good morning,’ Stone says. The lawyer looks as bad as he feels.

‘Good morning. Take a seat, Ben.’

The lawyer nods gratefully and takes a seat in the chair in front of his desk. He’s carrying a notebook and he rests it on his knee, tapping a pen against the yellow lined pages.

‘So,’ he says after a minute of awkward silence. ‘How are you doing?’

The look Stone gives him over his glasses is withering. Thankfully he’s saved from having to answer by Logan’s appearance. He looks like shit, too, a bandage wrapped around his left hand.

‘Been in the wars, Detective?’ Stone asks, voice tight and almost sneering.

He watches as Logan meets the lawyer’s eyes, something passing between them. They both turn away in almost the same instant.

He clears his throat, abruptly brought back to the reason of this meeting. ‘So… so I wanted to discuss your work going forward. I’m not going to force anyone to work together--’

‘Good,’ Logan cuts him off. ‘So I’ll send my partner to talk to Stone, if we need to talk to Stone. Okay? Good?’

He raises an eyebrow and looks at Stone.

‘Fine by me.’

‘Okay, great. So, we done?’

He sighs inwardly, both relieved that this is over and annoyed that Logan took control. ‘We’re done.’

Logan books it out of the room so fast he’s shocked. Stone follows him.

 

He hears them speaking later, in a corridor near the interrogation rooms.

‘What the hell happened between the two of you?’

For a minute he thinks that Logan’s talking, because he’s never heard Stone raise his voice and he’s barely heard him curse.

‘What did Lizzie--Liz--say?’

He’s floored by the intimacy in that nickname. It is obviously deeply private and it provokes Stone’s frustration further.

‘ _Elizabeth_ ,’ he emphasizes her name, ‘said that you pursued her.’

‘She’s not lyin’ to you, Stone. I was the one who... instigated things.’

‘I don’t know why I’m surprised. You’ve gone through every woman in New York, isn’t that right?’

‘Christ, Ben, it’s not like that. And it was never like that.’

‘You can’t tell me you actually felt something for her.’

‘Why the hell not? You have no idea who I am and what we had.’

‘So tell me, Mike, what you think you had with my wife.’

There's a long pause before Logan says roughly, ‘doesn’t matter anymore. Anyway--she married you.’

‘Yes, she did,’ Stone replies, though there's no joy in it. ‘But she’s in love with you. She told me so last night. So--what are you going to do?’

‘Do?’ Logan scoffs. ‘I’m not gonna _do_ anything.’

It’s Stone’s turn to snort. ‘Oh, of course, Logan. That’s what you’re going to do. It’s not like you’ve spent the past decade trying to get her back.’

‘It’s over,’ Logan says, and there’s a note of finality in his voice. ‘I don’t expect I’ll ever see her again, let alone be in a relationship with her. So--you want your wife back, Stone, go get her. She’s nothin’ to do with me.’

His footsteps are heavy as he walks away down the hall.

Well, shit, he thinks. Why did this have to happen today?


	8. Thursday, 7 p.m.: Caroline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really can't write from the point of view of an eight-year-old, at least vocabulary-wise. So please forgive that--I hope it doesn't take you too much out of the story.

She’s bored with researching this project about the Civil War, so she turns to her email to see if any of her friends are online to talk to. She already checked it this morning and so she’s surprised to see an email from an mlogan@gmail.com. There isn’t a subject line, but she knows that it’s private. She looks around--her nanny is in the kitchen still, so she quickly clicks on the email before she can come back out.

_Caroline--  
I wanted to write to you because I wanted to let you know that we probably won’t be seeing much of each other any more. I wish this wasn’t the case, honey, but this is the way it has to be. I want you to know that I wish things had worked out with me and your mom. I can’t think of anything I want more than to be a part of your life, but unfortunately it didn’t work out that way._

_I want you to know that if you ever need me, I’m just a phone call or an email away. You can always count on me._

_Be well, honey. I’m so grateful I could be in your life even for a little while._

_Mike_

‘Hi, Caroline.’

She didn’t even hear her mother come in--though she must have been standing there for a few minutes. She hasn’t seen her in a few days and she looks like a completely different person than the woman who dropped her off at school on Tuesday.

‘Hi Mommy. I'm just research for my Civil War project,’ she lies, closing the internet window. ‘I missed you, Mommy. Is everything okay?’

‘Yes, fine,’ her mother says, though she is lying too. ‘Why don’t we order sushi for dinner?’

She sets the laptop aside and nods, looking at her carefully. Something happened. Why else would Mike have emailed her?

She hasn’t seen him in months. She hasn’t seen him for more than a year, when he was still dating Mommy and they went to the park and--she blinks back sudden tears. There was a reason. She’d told Mommy what he’d said and she’d looked so sad, all of the sudden. She darts a glance at her mother now and she looks the same now as she did then.

So what happened?

She gets up from the sofa and gives her mother a big hug.

‘I love you, Mommy. I love you so much.’

Her mother’s arms tighten around her. ‘I love you too, my darling.’

 

Later, after they’ve finished their dinner, Mommy goes into her office to work for an hour before it’s her bedtime. She was in her room reading, but she sneaks down the hallway to her office and listens outside the door until she’s sure she’s busy. Then, she creeps back and enters her mother’s bedroom.

At first, she’s not sure what she’s looking for. She feels guilty for invading her mother’s privacy like this but she has to know what’s happened.

She finds a photo album under the bed, and when she flips it open she knows this is what she’s been looking for. She steps quietly out of her mother’s room and back to hers, carrying the album behind her back.

When she reaches her room she locks the door and opens it again.

These are photographs she’s never seen before. Photos of her mother and Mike from years ago, when they were first together… her mother has always been beautiful, but even more so here in these pictures. And she looks happy.

She drinks these photos in though she knows she only has a few minutes. There are so many photos of them… and then, at the end of the album, she notices one of the pages is noticeably thicker. It's two pages stuck together deliberately, she realizes. Heart in her throat, she carefully eases the pages apart.

They are photographs of her--but of her and Mike. She doesn’t remember these being taken--she was a baby in some of them, a toddler in others. There are only six photos, and the last one is of them at the boat pond last year.

She’d always had a sense that she had known Mike all of her life, and now that she sees these pictures she has a vague recollection of him laughing and holding her above his head, hugging her, feeling safe and loved… 

Why did Mommy have these photos? Why had they spent time together when she was little?

She has to put them back but she wants to keep looking at them. She’s running out of time as she reluctantly slides them back into their place and then puts the album back where she found it.

 

After her mother comes to tuck her in, she stares up at the ceiling in the darkness. She hasn’t learned anything. She just has more questions, questions to which she’ll never have the answers.


	9. Wednesday, 8 p.m.: Liz

When he knocks at her door, at last, she’s not surprised to see him. She’s been sitting here waiting for him, after all. It just took him a bit longer than she expected to get here. She can smell that inimitable dive bar scent as she steps aside to let him in. He makes for the living room and she can only follow in his wake, remembering all the times before that he has come to her. Somehow there’s a sense of finality about tonight.

‘I’ve already been called in to explain myself to the Captain,’ he starts, turning to face her once they reach the living room. ‘He said somethin’ to the effect that he wasn’t surprised my history with inappropriate women started well before my neighbor.’

She keeps her gaze lowered, sinking down onto the sofa and wrapping her arms around herself, trying to protect herself from whatever comes next. He begins to pace, waiting impatiently for her to speak. At last she clears her throat and says, ‘I didn’t realize that he knew it was you.’

It’s a lie, of course. Considering how private they kept their relationship when they were actually together, it’s endlessly surprising to her that their connection has become a poorly-kept secret now. God, when they were first together--no one knew, not until she was… she still can’t name it in her mind. Still can’t say that doctor’s name, not even to herself. Not until… then, when she had called him from the hospital, telling him she’d been assaulted… she couldn’t say it out loud then, either. And so they’d had to tell Phil and Captain Cragen, and then Lennie, after Phil was shot… She darts a glance up at him and is unable to suppress a shiver at the pure anger in his eyes.

‘Don’t be naive, Liz, everyone does! There’ve always been rumors about us and this just confirmed it. It only took an hour after you left the stand for Goren to sidle over to my desk and say something to the effect that since I’d spent some time seeing a psychologist he’d expect me to be more receptive to his methods of interrogation. I’ve gotta say, it’s a good thing your husband wasn’t in the office that day, but I can’t imagine what it’s gonna be like tomorrow when I meet with him--’ he breaks off and looks at her. ‘Why didn’t you call me?’ he asks, his voice devoid of anger now, sounding only lost and betrayed.

She’s seen him like this before, when he’s had the world drop out beneath his feet. He had been doing well. This--this admittance of their relationship won’t just hurt her. He’ll have this follow him for the rest of his career, and he’s finally gotten to where he wanted, needed, to go after ten years in exile… 

‘What could I say?’ she asks him, begging him to understand. How could she have told him this happened? How could she have called him and said--Jack made Cutter do this. He made me admit to the beginning of… the beginning on the stand. Everyone knows, now. It will ruin our careers. How could she have done this? She can’t even tell him now when he’s standing right in front of her. But he doesn’t listen to what she’s trying to tell him.

‘You could’ve given me a heads up! Jesus, Liz, you owed me that at least.’

She says, ‘I haven’t talked to Ben yet; he hasn’t even heard. He would have called if he did.’ She doesn’t know how to tell him, either. And he will need to know now. He needed to know as soon as it happened, but, cowardly, she could not tell him.

‘And is Ben more important to you than me?’ he snaps, wounded, hurt by another reminder of what should have been theirs.

‘He’s my husband,’ she says weakly, not missing the trace of contempt in his glare.

He shakes his head. ‘You’re separated and seein’ other people but even if you weren’t--Liz, it was about me! Us! You should have called me, should have let me know what to expect.’

‘I know,’ she admits in a whisper.

‘Then why didn’t you?’ He collapses in a chair across the room at last, defeated, his gaze pleading, begging her to tell him something he’ll understand.

She shakes her head slowly. _Oh God!_ her heart cries. _Oh, Mike, please, please understand--_ ‘I don’t know what I could have said.’

He slams his hand against the long, low dresser holding the television next to him; the picture frames atop it rattle. Looking away from her, he walks to the liquor cabinet, pouring himself a generous measure of scotch that he downs in one go. She watches him, minutes stretching by in silence.

‘I don’t even know how to talk to you right now,’ he admits, staring down into his empty glass. ‘Jesus Christ, Lizzie--why did this have to happen? It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was never supposed to be like this.’

‘I don’t know. I just--I don’t know, Mike,’ she whispers. ‘Don’t be angry at me. You have no reason to be angry with me, I didn’t have a choice--’

This is the wrong thing to say--she cuts herself off, but it’s too late. His anger has flared up once again, stronger and more filled with hate than anything she’s ever seen.

‘Fuck you,’ he snarls, slamming his glass down on the table. It shatters, crystal shards spraying outward. ‘I have every goddamn _right_ to be angry with you. _It’s your fault_. All of it! All of it is your fault. We should’ve been together. Everything that happened--we could’ve been happy. But not now. Never again.’

‘Mike--’

‘You raised my daughter with someone else,’ he says with finality. ‘I’ll never forgive you for that.’

He shakes his head, looking down at the shattered glass on the table, at his hand. She notices, abstractedly, that he’s cut, he’s bleeding. She watches the blood drip onto the carpet. After a long moment, he speaks again, his voice almost gentle.

‘No, I’m done, Lizzie,’ he says. ‘We’ve been doing this for fifteen years. I can’t do another fifteen. We’ve got to--we’ve got to stop. I can’t--’ he looks at her, his gaze so filled with anguish and love and loss and longing that it stops her heart. ‘God, I will never stop loving you.’ It sounds like a prayer, and she sucks in a breath. ‘I could never stop. But--this is it. It’s over.’

She can’t speak at first, but when she does her words tumble over each other in an effort to stop him, to keep him from leaving--she cannot let him go, not now, not ever, not for the last time--‘Mike--please--please don’t--I love--’

‘No,’ he cuts her off, shaking his head. She’s unable to move, silent again, and he whispers, ‘I’m sorry.’

She forces herself to meet his eyes and he quirks a small, humorless smile at her before turning away.

Before leaving her.

Forever.


End file.
